#I fucking paid eight dollars for this

[xenk64]

"Vices"

[mayonaisalspray]

i do not like my classes

[victory-cookies]

why is beef jerky 8 dollars

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.

[reiding-writing]

ARTIFICIAL SWEETNER — SPENCER REID!

spencer’s affinity for sweet drinks often bites him in the back when it comes to coffee shops, but with you as his company, it doesn’t last very long.

spencer reid x cold!reader | fluff | 1.5k | cold!reader masterlist

a/n— so i did end up making a fic based off that submission post— because, well, of course i did

main masterlist.

Spencer grimaces as he takes the first sip of his coffee.

A rare lunch break on a case, sat in a coffee shop he’d raved about on the flight over, and they didn’t follow his coffee order correctly.

Then again, no one ever seemed to take his sugar intake seriously.

Although, arguably worse was the fact that you definitely saw the change in his expression. He’d told you this place was good, and he meant it, but his coffee wasn’t exactly proving that point right now.

At least you seemed to be enjoying yours. Or tolerating it maybe.

“What’s wrong with you?” You raise an eyebrow blankly over the rim of your coffee mug.

“I asked for five sugars,” Spencer replies with a defeated mumble, giving his coffee another look as if the wrong ratio of sweetness was somehow going to magically change before him.

After another sip, he gives up on the coffee and instead picks at the pastry he’d purchased.

“They didn’t put them in?” You pull your mug from your lips to leave it on the table, reaching over it to pick up Spencer’s mug instead.

“Three at most,” Spencer sighs, “It’s never sweet enough, always a tad too bitter, just-,” he pauses, then pushes his mug towards you with a defeated huff.

You swivel the mug in your hands once you’ve got ahold of it, and Spencer watches curiously as you take a tentative sip of his coffee from the side his mouth hasn’t touched.

You barely even make it through a full mouthful, your grimace mirroring his own.

“See!” He exclaims, unable to stop the slight vindication from edging into his tone. “Far too bitter—”

You cut him off with a groan. “That is the sweetest drink I think I’ve ever had fucking hell—”

You push the mug back in his direction with a disapproving shake of your head. “How do you drink this shit?”

“I have a higher acclimation to sweetened drinks,” he replies, taking another sip from the mug like the taste was magically going to change, only to end up with the same frown as before.

“I’ll get them to add more sugar,” Your tone is almost begrudging as you take his mug in your hand, standing from your seat.

“No no,” he says, reaching out to lightly grab your wrist before you can take off, giving you a small frown as he gently tugs you back into your seat. “Please don’t make more trouble for the barista’s than I already have, just let it be.”

“Spencer,” You give him an unimpressed look. “You paid eight dollars for this egregious piece of shit, you’re going to enjoy it.”

“You’re not going to cause a scene over a coffee,” he murmurs, still holding onto your wrist, albeit now it was a little looser than before. “I can live with it,” a pause, and a muttered addition that only just barely reaches your ears, “It’s not the first time, it’s fine.”

“I’m not going to ‘cause a scene’,” You roll your eyes with a small huff as you pull your wrist from his grasp, although you do concede in leaving his mug back on the table.

“You will… you’re going to go up to the counter and yell at the poor baristas that I requested five sugars and not the measly three that they gave me.”

He gives you another frown, the same one he gives when he wants to pretend to be stern, but is still not confident enough around you to actually follow through with it. “Don’t, please?”

“I’m not going to yell at anyone,”

“You don’t have to yell for it to be noticeable,” he gives you another look. “Besides, you’re far too intimidating as it is, you’d make the poor kid behind the counter cry.”

You make a shushing motion with your hand before Spencer can say anything else.

He pauses for a moment, his mouth open as if he’s about to say something else, but closes it as you extend your index finger upwards with a shake of your head.

“I’ll be back in a minute,”

There’s a soft echo of protest from Spencer as he passively calls out your surname in the fizzling hope that you’d just leave the issue alone, but you may as well be deaf to the world once you’ve got an idea in your head.

He watches as you wander up to the counter of the café, leaning back against the plush padding of the cushioned sofa he’d chosen for you both to sit at with worry written in his knitted eyebrows. Worry that you’re going to do exactly what he told you not to.

You’re gone for less than two minutes, but Spencer thinks it might be the most stressful two minutes of his life. But alas, by the time you leave the counter there have been no yells, no crying, and more importantly you’re flaunting a paper cup that’s presumably filled with sugar.

He leans over the small table as you sit back down in front of him with a triumphant smile. “You didn’t make a scene, did you?” He questions, a tad wary.

“I asked, politely, and they provided,” You put the cup down on Spencer’s side of the table before taking a seat at your own. “It really is that simple to fix,”

He lets out a huff of a laugh as you leave him with the cup, half full with cubes of sugar, “I know that,” he says with a slight roll of his eyes, “But I didn’t want a fuss, and you’re good at making a fuss.”

“But I didn’t ‘make a fuss’, did I?”

With a sigh, he can’t deny that fact. He’d been sure that it wasn’t going to be the most pleasant exchange, but you’d been a lot nicer than he initially thought. “Suppose you didn’t,” he mumbles with a defeated smile.

“Thank you,” he adds as he carefully picks out three sugar cubes from the paper cup, lowering them into the coffee before giving it a careful stir, and a taste test to check for sweetness.

“Better?”

You don’t acknowledge Spencer’s thanks as you mirror him in taking a sip from your own coffee, without any added sweetness.

He nods, not meeting your gaze as he focuses a little too intently on adding the sugar to his coffee rather than looking at you. There’s a slight tinge of pink that colours his face, embarrassed at how he’d been wrong about your little ‘intervention’ at the counter, “much better,” he replies, taking another, larger sip of once it’s to his liking.

“Good,”

He nods again, lifting his gaze to the window beside him, looking out towards the street that was filled with civilians going about their day.

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you for a moment, but after some time, Spencer’s voice interrupts the quiet. “You know,” he murmurs, pausing for a moment as if unsure if to continue.

“You’re not as intimidating as you think you are,” he says in a voice that’s a little too hushed. He doesn’t meet your gaze, but he’s fully aware that he wouldn’t get the chance to finish his thoughts if he didn’t quickly finish his statement, “I mean— not that you’re not. You are uh— intimidating, terrifying even, but I—,” he pauses again, unable to form proper words to explain how he feels at that moment.

He swallows harshly, looking even more uncomfortable as he finally gathers the courage to glance your way, “I don’t find you as intimidating as others do,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper, as if it was his own dirty little secret.

“I know,” You exhale shortly through your nose over the rim of your mug.

He lets out a breath of his own that he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding. “I know you do,”

A pause as he gathers his thoughts again, now unable to look away from your gaze. “But I just wanted to say it,” he adds, quieter than he had been before, fiddling with the handle of his mug to give his hands something to do.

You give Spencer a soft hum of acknowledgment.

It wasn’t something really worth debating. Spencer was one of those people who inexplicably managed to work themselves between the gaps of other people’s walls.

Even someone like you.

He can’t stop the small upturn of his lips despite his continued efforts, he can’t understand why it makes him so happy, “You don’t scare me,” he mumbles like an achievement, so quiet that he doubts you’d even be able to hear him.

“I don’t want to scare you, Reid,”

A pause.

“I know…”

“I know you do,”

[ms-demeanor]

While I was out of town my boss pretty clearly got in a fight with one of my coworkers about overtime and billable hours and that has led to him being a petty little pissbaby about "complying with california law" by having us fill out time sheets because boss was utterly incapable of finding the middle ground between "you must track every second of your time in order to be paid for it" and "the technicians who make $60k a year are salaried and therefore are not entitled to overtime."

"Salaried employees can be non-exempt and therefore earn overtime if working for more than 8 hours a day but also are in a position where they can be trusted to take a few extra minutes at lunch or may stay after closing time occasionally without requiring overtime" doesn't seem like a very fine needle to thread but he is absolutely incapable of threading it.

For *years and years* now he has used himself as an example of the right way to be "on time." He's told us about going to his job as a kid and getting there five minutes early every day just to prove to his boss that he really wanted the work.

Anyway, I just got a lecture on how I'm not supposed to clock in even a minute before my start time, nor am I to cut my lunch short, nor am I to stay late to finish things up; he wants me in here for eight hours a day *exactly* and is now so hell-bent on micromanaging everyone's start and end times that he was late to a client meeting earlier because he was looking over time sheets.

Sir, you have played stupid games and you have won stupid prizes. You should have just paid the techs their fucking overtime.

He's being so petulant about this and it's so fucking funny. None of us feel bad for you bro. You are wage theft georg and the spiders have come home to roost. It is very much worth the potential few dollars of time I'll lose each week to see you tie yourself up in knots about whether I stayed two minutes late on wednesday to answer a customer's question.

[heartsofminds]

i'm calling just to hear you scream - part i

"She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down." or Natalie gets fed the fuck up and hires a hospitality attorney before everything else turns to shit. 

a/n: i couldn't help myself at all and had to bite by trying my hand at writing for carmy! what can i say? i love men with trauma that need to be cuddled like newborns! please enjoy the beginning of enemies to lovers to enemies back to lovers fic with a workaholic chef and an overly empathetic attorney. angst is my brand! i hope you enjoy!

Being the peacekeeper of your family is never something anyone ever sets out to be. 

One day you’re normal and live blissfully with the rose-colored lenses of naivety tinting life shades of bashful blush and magnetic magenta. The next day you’re diffusing a spitfire scarlett dispute between your anxiety-ridden mother and impulsively crude older brother while simultaneously taming the balloon of battered blue tears your baby brother sheds who observes from the corner; scared yet somehow unaware of the emotions sucking the oxygen out of everyone. 

At first, it feels good. It feels nice to be appreciated and turned to in moments of darkness. Helpfulness defines your livelihood and gives you the nameplate of the gold star child who can never do any wrong and always finds a solution. But then you realize that is what you ever really are, and you’re both hated for your inability to let things sour and for always having an answer despite uncertainty plaguing every course of action. 

Being the peacekeeper of your family is both a Medal of Honor, worn with pride and graciousness, yet a bullet wound wielded by shame and agony. The tenderness and hurt push on it until you can hardly stand it; half expecting pus to be seeping out in pale yellow heaps because the pain feels so real. 

There are no exit wounds. There are no breaks. There is no humanity or personal identity or room for self-discovery. 

A peacemaker is all you will be and all you will ever accomplish, and you’ll never say it out loud but it’s fucking exhausting. 

Being the peacemaker is something Natalie Berzatto never fucking asked for, yet here she is, playing project manager to her haywire (and sometimes freakishly obsessive) baby brother’s blind-eyed throw of a dart that manifested itself in asking Uncle Jimmy for an eight hundred thousand dollar loan with the promise to have it completely paid back within eight months. 

She’s not one to rain on a parade, but it’s hard to keep marching when your entire life has been putting out the fires of overly ambitious business ventures during unmedicated fits of mania. She had seen it with their dad, with their mom, and with Mikey. Carmen is the last needle needed to complete the fucked up haystack that engulfs their family. 

She’s tried to be positive. She’s tried to be kind. She’s trying to be the peacekeeper, but all of that falls out the window when her brother is bitching out everything that fucking blinks and breathes and Richie has slung a sledgehammer into the wrong wall that needed to be knocked down. 

Natalie has never thought of looking into Botox until now; when her face is set in a permanent scowl and her resting heart rate nears triple digits. Pete had been telling her for the past three weeks that she was doing amazing; that this was an impossible task to complete stress-free, and that the stress was “good” because it meant that she cared. 

Sometimes she doesn’t realize that not everyone has a mom who drives the fucking car through the den during Christmas Eve dinner nor does everyone have a mom who moves all the furniture to the backyard before having to leave for their oldest brother’s high school graduation. Not everyone has an older brother who blows his head off and doesn’t leave a note and not everyone has a younger brother who would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his body and had his mouth that was spewing hurtful insults by the dozen.

Stress does not mean that you care. Stress means that your eyes are staring at the fucking Sun trying to see where the other shoe is getting ready to drop because there’s always another disappointment and always another phone call to make to the pharmacy for more SSRIs. 

Needless to say, Richie calling Neil “lard ass” on an antagonizing loop after he had pointed out the wrong wall was being destroyed was the last straw. Well, that and the fact she found a new patch of white hairs colonizing on her hairline the other morning. Constant shouted insults, gray hairs popping up overnight, and the colossal secret of a new infant making its arrival into the chaos in October weigh heavy on her. And she absolutely cannot afford to lose her cool and become the kind of bitchy and mean she knows that she’s capable of. 

Your phone number sits inside the LED-lit text thread of a friend she had known in high school. Becca was the older sister of Claire Cantor whom her little brother may have or may have not had a pathetic crush on years ago when he was in high school. 

She feels kind of grimy doing what she is; offering up information about Carmy to Becca to give to Claire who apparently thought her baby brother was the bee's knees (which, if she saw the way he was acting right now, Natalie knows she would run the other way). She doesn’t even think Carmen has the capability to think of anything outside of the restaurant and the menu and how royally fucked they all are. 

She can feel the dull ache of guilt in her chest that comes with knowing how unlikely anything is to come from this, and how wrong she is for pretending like her telling Becca where he grocery shops or if he has a girlfriend or if he was currently looking for someone to date would somehow tether Claire to a world where her and Carmen are a “thing” (because apparently “boyfriend and girlfriend” is too permanent of a word for Chicagoan twenty-somethings to use). 

But she’s doing it for the sake of everyone else! It can’t possibly be as gross and low-lived as she feels it is. 

Becca Cantor is insufferable and can only be taken in small doses, but she’s also a big wig junior partner at one of the most lucrative law firms in Chicago. Natalie hates blowing smoke up people’s asses who don’t deserve it (and in Becca’s case certainly don’t need it), but she desperately needs help and knows that she needs to figure something out before she fucks herself in such a deep hole that she couldn’t attempt to unfuck herself if she tried. 

Your official title is “junior associate” and you had been working at Becca’s firm following your graduation from Northwestern’s Pritzker School of Law a couple of years prior. Becca had said you were amazing; freakishly smart, funny, and hardworking. She also mentioned that you were the best kind of junior associate; the ones that know when to shut the fuck up and when to get the fuck out of the way. The addition added before the text conversation ended was how you were looking to get your foot into the hospitality legal field, and how you were willing to do anything concerning that for free fucking ninety-nine if it meant you would have some experience. 

Natalie sits with her lower lip worried between her teeth and her hands one tick shy of shaking. Her heart beats erratically despite lounging on her couch with the lights off and a re-run of That 70’s Show playing softly in the background. She makes a mental note to bring up the high resting heart rate at her next OB appointment. 

It’s because she’s pregnant. Yes. It has to be because she’s pregnant. 

She shouldn’t be nervous. It would be absolutely ridiculous to be nervous. She’s not nervous. 

She already ran the idea past Sydney and she agreed that they absolutely needed a lawyer in their back pocket. With all of the tax records fucked beyond belief, new workers being hired who actually knew their worth and wouldn’t tolerate not having an actual employement contract, and the lack of permits under their belt currently, a lawyer wouldn’t hurt if getting one turned out to not be as helpful as anticipated. Besides, Becca had said you were doing it for them pro bono which in turn meant free fucking nintey-nine. 

But Natalie had lied to Carmen about how much some fluted cocktail glasses cost to ensure that they purchased the cheaper ones so that she could run the numbers and figure out a way to put you on the payroll. Pro bono or not, you’re doing them a huge favor and part of her can’t put the peacekeeping to rest. 

Her fingers type and untype a novel of characters. She can’t seem to relax her mind enough to articulate what exactly she wants to say. She has one shot to not scare you off and not lose her mind in a fit of fiery rage and not have everything turn to shit and it be her fault. She has to be perfect. 

Fuck. She is nervous. 

Hi! This is Natalie Berzatto. I’m one of Becca Cantor’s friends and she referred me to you. I’m working on opening a restaurant and would like for you to swing by and discuss some things about it if you’re open to that! Please let me know. I’m looking forward to hearing back from you soon! 

Nat’s finger hits the blue “send” arrow in the rounded box of her phone screen the same time she pushes a gag to the back of her throat. She used to work at a marketing firm for Christ’s sake. Cold contacting people isn’t anything new and she’s usually not one to shy away from reaching out to anyone in her personal life first. But she can’t help the fact that she’s never been able to swallow the artificial bubble gummy niceness of reaching out to a complete stranger for the first time. She feels stupid and knows that she sounds even stupider but tries not to think about it. 

Besides, keeping everything together is never easy and she knows that she would be selfish for letting her discomfort prevent her from doing what she knows is best. 

Her breath is stuck in her chest as she eyes the open text thread to an unsaved number; her blue text message staring at her menacingly and breeding contempt as the seconds pass. She gasps loudly whenever she sees the gray bubbles pop up beneath it. Pete pokes his head into the living room with a tea towel in his hand and one of the ceramic plates they had eaten dinner on in the other. His eyes wear concern but he knows better than to confront his wife. Natalie was anything but sugary sweet when she was stressed and the influx of hormones as of late have not been helping. 

You see the message as soon as Natalie sends it. The unknown “312” number finds its way into your notifications and your eyes read over the words in a frenzy. You know that you’re intelligent. You graduated from law school for fuck’s sake, but for some reason you absolutely cannot comprehend the text you’re reading. 

Firstly, you were sure Becca hated your fucking guts. She was a junior partner that everyone hated being assigned to because she pushed all her work onto the associates and nothing ever seemed to be good enough for her. Part of the reason you had to take work home tonight was because she sent you an email with enough passive-aggressive undertone to know that these edits needed to be done now; never mind the fact that the time she took to type out the seven and a half page report about the original report probably took up so much time that she could’ve done the task herself. But yet you replied kindly and have been working through your brain fog and finger cramps since arriving home at six in the evening five hours ago. 

Secondly, hospitality litigation was absolutely above your pay grade. You had taken one elective course on it during your 2L year and did a two-week internship before the start of 3L simply because one of your friends wanted to go on vacation and needed to find someone to cover for them. You know jack shit about hospitality law and you don’t even know why Becca Cantor, of all fucking people, would be so willing to recommend you when she couldn’t care less if you lived or died. 

But of course, you can’t say no. You can never say no, and if this Natalie person was desperate enough to reach out to you via text at 11 PM on a Wednesday, she definitely needed help and needed it now. Besides, you would tell her that you do not need to be paid and if whatever she needs proves to be way too advanced for you, you can always help her find an attorney that knows what they’re doing.

Right? 

It definitely doesn’t mean that you’ll pull an all-nighter and research every aspect of hospitality law in Illinois that you can get your hands on. . .Or look up every department dealing with food and management regulations in the state. . .Or try and look at precedent cases. Your firm gave you unlimited access to West Law. Might as well use it for something slightly more interesting than trusts, estates, and contracts. 

You’re unusually pensive for something you know you would love to do. The ongoing battle as of late has been the dispute between seeking joy and wading in practicality; happiness or falsified peace? 

You rub your eyes with a roughness that would make your optometrist cringe. You know that staring at your computer screen five hours after your contracted work hours ended was the culprit for your dry eyes, but the hours you need are not going to bill themselves. Getting up to get your eyedrops will have to wait.

Replying to Natalie cannot. 

Your fingers type and untype; the feeling of texting back an unknown number foreign and unnerving. 

Thanks so much for reaching out and thinking of me! I would love to. What dates and times work for you, and where would it be best for us to meet? 

The text stares at you on your phone screen. Why do you sound so. . . corporate? Boring? Infantile.

She could probably tell you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about at all. The feeling of defeat rises in your throat but you ignore it and hit send instead. You’re trying to be better about that; letting your fear of uncertainty keep you from taking action. You’ve come to realize that the hard part isn’t doing the thing. It’s actually sitting in the aftermath of the “thing” and waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. 

You bite your lip so hard it begins to bleed and throbs with each pulse of watery blood that fills your mouth. The gentle suck you give it to stop the bleeding makes it partially numb. 

Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. Fuck you, Becca. 

Natalie chirps when your text illuminates her screen. She gasps and sits up; startling Pete who had settled next to her after finishing the dishes. Her eyes curl up in the same way her lips do. 

Fucking finally. 

The world no longer feels like it’ll fall apart.

[lostintransist]

This Bunny Bites - Part 3

I managed to post part 4 before part 3 so that has been fixed now and updated. Enjoy!

When you finally settle into bed the clock on your nightstand reads four AM. It had been a relatively quiet night after Johnny and company left, only a few spilled drinks and one guy who got way too into the fact he could touch the girls. You would always be grateful that the owner paid for a cleaning service to come in every morning and deep clean the building instead of making you girls do any of the cleaning. You had a gig once that made you clean after all the clients had gone. It took one puddle of cum in the bathroom for you to leave and never come back to that job.

You set your alarm for one PM and drift off to sleep listening to the rain sounds from your phone.

When you wake you shuffle out of your room into the small kitchen of your condo, flicking on the coffee machine. You sit tweak the blinds in the living room just enough to let in some light and sit on the couch staring into nothingness. Once the sound of running water stops you stand and shuffle to the the kitchen. After adding just the right amount of creamer you head back to your room. You adjust the curtains in here too until you can see but not be blinded.

Placing your coffee on the bedside table you grab your phone and fire off a text to your best friend.

‘Guess who showed up at the club last night?’

‘Was it Satan?’ Cara’s reply comes right through.

‘Nope, worse.’

‘Worse than Satan, but your father is dead so…your grandpa??’

You laugh out loud at the grandpa comment, your mother’s father happened to be the sweetest old man two lived hours away from you in a nursing home.

‘My brother.’

The ringing of your phone doesn’t shock you. You slid it open and answered Cara’s call.

“Bitch what the fuck did you just text me? Your BROTHER came to the club last night? The brother that abandoned you to the scum-eating, walnut fucking, monster of a sperm donor?” Cara must not have been at work if she was using her favorite insults.

“Yep, that’s the one. He was there in a group and didn’t recognize me when I came by to get orders.” You slurp a sip of coffee, feeling Cara flinch across the line at the noise.

“God, what did you do?” she stressed the last word.

“I kicked him and his friends out, obviously. He acted all shocked when I told him to get the fuck out, claimed he hadn’t done anything. Took me full naming him and calling myself his baby sister before he recognized me.”

Cara doesn’t interrupt but adds whispered commentary through the whole tale.

“I have never seen a human go so pale before Cara. I almost laughed, but I kept it together. Told him to get out or get thrown out and then one of his friends stood up, threw some money on the table, and basically forced my brother out the door. The two other friends he was with also dropped some money on the table and followed him out. The weird thing though is that when I totaled up what they had left on the table it was eight hundred dollars.”

“Eight,” Cara choked on air. “They left you eight hundred dollars for kicking them out?”

You shrug despite knowing she can’t see you, “I don’t know man, that’s just it. I can’t think of any good reason they would leave such a big tip!”

Cara whistled, “Damn, that means your what a month closer to your goal of quitting right? My best friend going to become a world-famous author one of these days.”

You smile at her undying support. She had gotten out of dancing after her business degree had landed her a nice six-figure paying job. You pulled down more than that but with most of it in cash, you had to be careful with depositing your money into any bank account.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I doubt I will make much money off of writing which is why I need to have enough money so between the rentals and my savings I never have to dance for work or do anything I don’t want to again.” Your dream was to get out, maybe move to the south of France, or Austria, and live out the rest of your days in peace.

“You know I will buy all of your books as soon as they are published,” Cara reminded you.

“I know, I love you too.”

“Good, now I have to get back to work. You free for brunch on Sunday?”

“I will have to check my calendar so text me?”

“Can do doll, love you!”

“Bye,” you hang up feeling more cheerful than before the chat.

You finish your coffee, sifting through your feelings about your brother’s abrupt return, and hope he doesn’t show up again.

Part 2 | Part 4

Masterlist | Bunny Masterlist

[strniohoeee]

Labyrinth

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female reader

Synopsis: A numb and addicted y/n can’t seem to understand why her life suddenly feels different. She’s done nothing but move around in her adult years, so why is it now that she feels she can’t pack up and leave anytime soon?

Warnings⚠️: I haven’t written in over a month, so I’m super rusty this might be shitty! Cigarette smoking and mentions, mentions of addiction, mentions of alcohol. I don’t condone smoking or drinking (underage).🖤

Song for imagine: Cigarettes and Coffee- Otis Redding

Its early in the morning

About a quarter ‘til three

I’m sittin here talking with my baby

Over cigarettes and coffee

I was never one to deal with stress easily which led me to deal with it in the worst ways possible. Drinking, smoking, quitting jobs on the spot and even packing up and leaving places…..I know stupid and risky, but I never had that anchor in my life to tell me everything was going to be okay.

If I felt stressed and useless my things were packed and I was on the road to a new state. I think I was on state number 7 in about a year and a half. Who the fuck in their right mind handles stress this way? That was the million dollar question, and I had the answer…. I wasn’t in my right mind…not in the past, not in the present and undoubtedly not in the future.

After my last breakdown I landed in California precisely in Los Angeles, the city of angels. Where all your dreams and aspirations could come true. It just felt like lost paradise to me, but it’s the longest state I’ve ever stood in. For some reason I couldn’t find the power in me to leave when I got stressed. It was as if I had some unforeseen future here….a future of happiness and hope?

But the stress still gnawed at me. Will I ever have a career, will I ever be truly happy, will my parents be proud of me?How am I going to pay for next month's rent?How am I going to pay for next week's groceries?

It was a constant battle and I never severely suffered because I always found a way, but once all that was taken care of the immediate panic started again about how will I be able to do it all in the following weeks.

I started smoking constantly and it was weird because I wasn’t a smoker but I knew I should drink a little less. I only lit a cigarette when the stress was so bad I refused to drink anymore. Not like smoking was any better ruining my lungs rather than my liver….

But the problem was it went from one to two a day to five and on really bad days even up to eight. It was a bad crutch I simply couldn’t pull away from. They were my training wheels and I was so scared that once I let go I’d crash and burn.

I had an addiction and I had no one around me to slap me out of it. Of course I still spoke to my parents, but I just lied about it. I mean there’s truly no one to blame but myself, however all that regret left my mind once a lighter was in my hand and I took a long drag while the cool night breeze brushed against my skin.

I was lucky enough to have found a job almost instantly. It was a cute little coffee shop that had a small selection of books. It was a peaceful and slow paced job. We only really needed two to three people working. So I’d open at 8am and waited for the next girl to clock in at about 11am.

It was a fun job that paid the bills and my horrendous cigarette addiction. I had found a decent studio apartment nearby. But I was always convinced that this would be snatched from under my feet and I should never get comfortable. As you can expect this led to my extreme stress and anxiety.

I didn’t necessarily have friends here, I mean yes I was cool with my coworkers and boss; but we weren’t friends. It was more of a hi, bye situation. It didn’t bother me much. I was always a loner. I never really found people who got me, so I stayed with the only person who did…me.

On my days off I spent a lot of time walking around flea markets, heading into other cafes and even writing. I’d always hoped that one day I’d be a writer. My mind was always running and I figured someone out there might actually relate to and enjoy the words I’d write on a piece of paper.

Today I was actually working a small shift from 8am to 1pm. I was staring blankly at my reflection in the bathroom. Scrubbing my hands and gargling mouthwash. It was 11am and I was coming back from my break.

Spitting the mouthwash into the sink I closed the cap and stuffed the travel size bottle into my purse. Inhaling deeply I looked at myself once again.

“You have got to stop smoking” I replied in a mumble

Slipping my hand blindly into my purse I pulled out my perfume; spritzing myself before shutting the light and heading into the break room to place my purse back.

Slipping my apron on my coworker walked in, clocking in the back as she offered me a smile

“Good morning Y/N” she said as she walked towards me to place her things down

“Good morning K” I stated as I offered a smile back and began to make my way to clock back in

I wasn’t sure why her name was K, it was all over her employee paperwork. She was here before me, so I felt I had no right to ask her for her real name. But it was interesting for someone to just drop the rest of their name and solely go by a singular letter.

After punching back in I walked to the front, not a surprise it was dead. The only people lingering around were the 8am-9am crew. Sighing deeply I decided to clean up a bit.

It was about 12pm now and I was watching the clock anxiously waiting to clock out and run free. Usually I worked 8-4 and sometimes even 8-6. I had a whole day ahead of me and two days off might I add. I felt pretty invincible

Drinking from my water cup the door chimed signaling a customer. Placing the cup down I began to turn around.

“Hi welcome to Mugs” I stated as I turned around

Immediately I was intrigued. I have never seen someone as interesting before. I mean it is LA, so I have seen some interesting stuff; but no he looked different…. And for some reason I couldn’t really look away

Placing his vision glasses on top of his head he squinted his eyes to read the menu. My eyebrow raising.

“You know glasses are meant for you to see things” I said logging into the register as I looked up at him

“I’m sorry?” He said looking at me

“You um…. You put your glasses on your head and then squinted to read” I said pointing above me at the board

“Oh… well these are just blue light glasses. I genuinely can’t really see” he said in an awkward way

“Ohhh well uhh want me to read the menu to you?” I asked laughing a bit

“Oh no it’s fine, I’m not really a coffee drinker” he stated looking at our pastry display

“You do realize you’re in a Coffee shop?” I said jokingly

His mouth opened a bit and then he squinted his eyes

“I am now seeing how ridiculous I look” he said chuckling and shaking his head

“No judgment here” I said sticking my hands up in defense

“I won’t waste your time any more! Can I have a chocolate chip cookie and that bottle of Pepsi” he said pointing behind me at the small fridge

“One Pepsi and one cookie, coming right up” I said checking him out on the screen

Grabbing the cookie and bottle of soda I placed it on the counter and slid it towards him.

“You can tap or insert your card whenever you’re ready” I stated clicking some buttons on my screen

“I’m uhh actually paying cash” he said fishing in his wallet

“Woahhh cash in this century?” I said giggling and fixing the system

“Yeahh I carry a little bit of cash and little bit of card” he said shrugging his shoulders

“A little bit of card….hmm…that’s funny” I said giggling a bit at him

“Well you know what I mean” he says playfully rolling his eyes

“I’m just messing with you” I said shaking my head

Smiling he handed the cash over and grabbed his items

“Keep the change” he said waving with his hand and nodding his head

Walking out the door I couldn’t seem to understand why I had a stupid smile on my face. Putting the cash in the till and placing the change in our tip jar.

Turning around I was met with my two coworkers staring at me with a smirk on their face. I’d never been the spotlight of attention and I’ve never gotten anything other than a good morning from either of them. So my face dropped and I got self conscious

“What?” I said a bit scared as I straightened my posture

“He was totally into you” K stated as she placed the rack of cookies down

“Was not! We were just making friendly conversations” I said opening the pastry shelf and putting some cookies in

“No no I agree with K we’ve had a lot of guys come in here, but this is the first time I’ve seen a guy like utter more than two words to you and he was totally geeking out” Delilah stated

“Totally! That kid was blushing like crazyyy” K stated as she grabbed the now empty tray and began to walk back towards the kitchen

“Guys come on! It was just friendly banter” I said shutting the pastry door

“Delilah knows her shit too, that’s how Danny and I got together” K stated from the kitchen

“Shut up! No way” I said rolling my eyes

“Sure did! As soon as we had an interaction K told me he’d be back for my number, and that was three years ago” K replied

“You just got lucky this was nothing but mere coincidence” I replied back to them

“You’ll see girl” Delilah stated as she began to make herself a coffee

Playfully rolling my eyes I checked the clock, I had about 10 minutes till my shift was over. I decided to make myself a drink.

As I made my iced latte I began to wonder. I didn’t really have many interactions with guys, but I think I’d know if someone was flirting with me.

It just felt like a friendly banter with an awkwardly shy….nerdy guy. Laughing to myself I finished making my drink.

“Alright girls I’m going to clock out now” I stated as I walked to the back

Punching out and grabbing my things I slid my apron off and grabbed my drink. Heading towards the front of the cafe

I waved bye to the girls as I took a sip.

“Have a good day girls” I said as I walked out

I had the whole day ahead of me and I didn’t even know what I wanted to do. My job was near a pier where I could always sit down and watch people.

Before heading to the pier I decided to stop for some food. Heading into a small restaurant I sat down. Taking my book out of my purse I began to write. I hadn’t written in two weeks and it felt wrong.

Ghosting my hand over the paper, my mind just kept going blank. I couldn’t form a proper sentence and my mind began to race again. Thinking back on that boy I began to think about my love life.

Honestly I didn’t really have one, I was more of a hopeless romantic. Often watching rom coms and rolling my eyes at how unrealistic that love was. I’m sure it was tangible, but I was just a sour puss.

I longed for a relationship like that to always know you’ll have someone there for you loving you unconditionally. To be with someone through sickness and in health. I was only 22, but it seemed to me that everyone around me already had that amazing soulmate. I was very clearly late to the game and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find someone to love. I wasn’t even sure I was lovable myself.

Then again I never put myself out there, but times have changed. It's not that easy. Guys have become so shitty and all they care about it sex. But it’s like what about getting to know the person deep down.

Not once has a guy ever asked me my dreams and aspirations, where do I see myself in five years? What are my biggest goals in life? What’s my biggest fear….. I lost all hope for love by the time I was 18.

Reading romantic stories and watching these shows and movies definitely added salt to the wound.

I hadn’t realized how much I was writing till my hand began to cramp. Looking up I realized it was no longer daytime.

“Shit” I muttered under my breath

Slamming my book shut I paid my bill and began to gather my things. Walking out of the restaurant I stepped out onto the golden street. It was about 5:45 and I really couldn’t understand how that much time had passed.

I think that’s why I enjoy writing the most, I’m so far gone in my own world it’s like I’m frozen and the world around me continues to move.

Walking towards the pier it was surprisingly empty at this time. Breathing in the salty air I sat down on a bench. Watching the ocean I let the breeze blow through my hair.

Digging in my purse I pulled out my pack of American Spirits. Sighing deeply I pulled a cigarette out. As soon as I grabbed my lighter all the regret washed away from me.

Placing the white object in between my lips I flicked the lighter a few times before a glowing flame appeared before me. Guarding the flame from the wind I brought it closer.

Inhaling as I lit the cigarette all my worries washed away. This was only my second cigarette of the day and I somehow felt accomplished.

Kicking the gravel underneath me I took a long drag, exhaling I got up. Walking over to the edge of the pier I decided to sit down allowing my legs to hang off the edge.

I wasn’t 100% sure I could do this, but it’s worth a shot I thought to myself. Leaning my chin on the railing I took another drag as I stared into the sunset.

Life was so beautiful and I wasn’t sure why I was so sad and numb all the time. I took a lot for granted and I hated it.

I really needed to stop smoking.

“You know those things will kill you” I heard from behind me

My brows began to furrow as I took a drag

“I’m sorry?” I said annoyed as I looked behind me, blowing the smoke out through my nose as my face dropped

“You shouldn’t smoke” he said again with a cheeky smile on his face

Meeting eyes with the same guy from the cafe made my heart skip a beat and my throat go dry.

“Squinting your eyes is also bad for you” I said putting the cigarette out

“Won’t kill me though” he said shrugging his shoulders

“You never know” I said shrugging my shoulders and standing up

His eyes followed me as I got up and it was only then did I feel super self conscious about this whole situation. My embarrassment turned a bit into anger.

“Anyways you drink Pepsi, so that for sure will kill you” I said as I dusted my pants off

“Guess we’ll both be dead then” he replied

“Wow you’re super blunt” I said scoffing

“Sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to come off rude. I was just playfully teasing” he said looking nervous

Looking at him for a split second and I sniffed and then rolled my eyes

“It’s fine. It’s a bad habit anyways” I replied shrugging my shoulders

“We all have bad habits we’re not proud of” he said in a whisper

“Are you uhh following me?” I asked him cocking an eyebrow

“What? No oh my god no! I was just walking and I thought you looked super familiar” he replied putting his hands up in defense

“I’m just teasing you” I said giggling

“I’m Matt” he replied placing his hand out for me to shake

“I’m Y/N” I stated as I shook his hand

“It’s nice to formally meet you” he said awkwardly

“Yeah” I replied awkwardly

“I’ll uh… ill let you go on about your business. Maybe I’ll see you around” He said

“Well you know where to find me” I said smiling at him

Opening my bag I was digging around for my phone before successfully pulling it out.

“Right, well have a good evening” he said and waved shyly

“I’ll see you round Matt” I replied

Going our separate ways I looked down at my phone, 6:55pm…. Sighing, I walked back to my car close to the cafe and drove home.

Shuffling up the stairs I pushed my apartment door open after unlocking it. Making note that I must call the maintenance guy because that door needs some WD40 badly.

Locking the door I turned my lights on. Today just felt strange like I couldn’t put my finger in exactly what the fuck was going on.

Walking over to my patio I opened the sliding door and stepped out. Taking in the evening breeze my mind just went blank.

Stepping back inside I grabbed my purse, grabbing my lighter I shuffled my hand around my purse to feel for my pack of cigarettes. But my brows furrowed when I didn’t feel the square container.

Walking over towards the light I opened my bag more and looked inside. An annoyed feeling washed over me as I couldn’t find the box. I mean honestly good because I did not need anymore.

Still searching as if the box was going to magically appear. I groaned soon realizing I must’ve left them on the bench and they are for a fact long gone by now.

Throwing my lighter back into my purse I groaned and sat on my couch. The one time I desperately need a cigarette I fucking left it on the pier.

I cut that night short with a 80s movie marathon and left over pizza as a midnight snack.

remembering that tomorrow I had to stop into the cafe to pick up my paycheck. We’re living in a very digital world right now and my job still does paper checks….

Groaning at that I decided to call it a night….

The End

Okayyy IVE BEEN GONE FOR SOOO FUCKING LONG. And I’m sooo sorry it’s just life has been so crazy since March! However this was the end of part 1….stay tuned for more🥺🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

[amnevitahwritesstuff]

The Pretty Woman AU no one asked for.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Prostitution, Older Man/Younger Woman

Chapters: 1, 3, 4, 5 (WIP)

Length: 2,190 words

AO3 Link

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

Chapter Two

If I Had a Little Money

The morning brings with it confusion. 

It took Feyre a few moments to realize where she was when she woke up. She knew almost immediately that this wasn’t her bed. For starters, her bed wasn’t nearly so comfortable. So where…?

She saw white sheets. Pretty cream wallpaper. And a floor to ceiling window that showed off a dazzling city skyline. 

It all came rushing back then. 

She had…! And then she…! And he had…!

She felt dizzy. 

It almost didn’t feel real. Like the events of the night before had happened to someone else. 

To Vivian. 

Vivian had been confident. Vivian has been sexy. Vivian had been enthusiastically willing to jump into bed with a stranger and get paid for it. 

Feyre finally spied her purse, carefully laid out on the bedside table, and snatched it up to look inside. There, nestled safely where she’d stowed it the night before, was all the money she had earned. She counted it to be sure and, yep, all eight-thousand dollars was accounted for. She would be able to pay her landlord. Buy groceries. Maybe even have a nice buffer for when her sister inevitably didn’t show up to pay her half of the rent next month. 

She…she needed to go to the bank. She needed to get this deposited and safely out of her hands as quickly as possible. Knowing her luck, she would get mugged on her way home. No. Better to get it locked up in a vault somewhere. 

It didn’t take long for her to gather her meager belongings. Her purse. Her ratty converse. Her hoop earrings that she didn’t even remember taking off (had she taken them off? She must have…). And then tip toeing to the bedroom door looking for the exit. 

The man from the night before (Rhys, her brain reminded her helpfully) stood with his back to her, quietly speaking on the phone, as he leaned on the kitchen island. 

“No that won’t work. I have something I need to take care of first.”

Shit. 

How was she supposed to get out of here? Didn’t people usually just expect prostitutes to…walk out? She had the money. He’d gotten what he wanted…right? This transaction was over and now it was time for her to make like a banana and split. 

So then why did she feel so awkward about the idea of walking out without saying goodbye?

Clearly she wasn’t as cut out for this sex worker thing as she thought. 

Too late, Rhys had turned and noticed her. He smiled at her warmly, as if she were a beloved guest instead of his late-night booty call. 

Fuck. 

“Listen, I’ll check back with you soon,” he said quickly into his phone. “Just move the meeting up.” Then he ended the call and tossed the (very expensive looking) phone onto the counter while his eyes zeroed in on her. 

“Umm…hi.” Feyre wanted to smack herself. She sounded like an awkward teenager. 

You are an awkward teenager, a traitorous voice in her head replied. 

“Going so soon?” 

“Well…yeah…” she trailed off meaningfully. They were done…weren’t they? He had only paid for the night after all. And he couldn’t meaningfully argue it still was what with all the morning sunshine streaming in through the giant hotel windows. 

“Do you have somewhere to be?” 

“I…umm…I mean, I should probably go to the bank…”

He stared at her then. In the morning light, she really could almost be convinced his eyes were purple…they were just so…blue. Like a night sky just after the last rays of sun had sunk beneath the horizon. 

“What if…what if I bought you out for the rest of the week?”

Feyre blinked. 

She opened her mouth. Then she closed it. Then she opened it again. This was the part where she told him ‘no thank you’ and got the fuck out of dodge. She had her money. Nearly ten grand of it. She wouldn’t have to worry about bills for at least a few months. 

And yet all she managed to get out was, “I think I need to sit down.”

She sat on the floor. 

Rhys suddenly looked a little panicked. 

“Are you feeling alright?! Do you need anything?!”

Strangely, this actually made her feel a little better. If he was being awkward about this too, then it actually put them on somewhat more equal footing. 

“I’m fine,” she began. “I just…why?”

“Why what?”

“Why me? Why an entire week? That’s…that’s a lot of money.”

Rhys shrugged. “I can afford it.” 

She thought of the eight-thousand dollars burning a hole in her purse. Yeah. She just bet he could. 

“But…you’re…you,” she argued, waving at his expensive suit and model-ready cheekbones like this explained everything. “You could have anyone. For free.”

He cocked his head at her curiously. Almost amused. 

“Could I have you for free?”

“Well…no,” Feyre admitted. What she didn’t tell him was that he probably could…if she wasn’t so fucking desperate and poor. 

He shrugged, as if he had expected that. “Then you can have the money and I can have your company. Besides,” he added with what could only be described as a sly smile. “I’m here on business for the week. You need money. I need someone pretty on my arm for all the work functions I’ll be forced to attend. Everyone wins.” 

“So you don’t just want me for…you know…” her cheeks darkened, much to her horror. This man’s hand had been inside of her and yet she couldn’t even say the word ‘sex’ to him out loud? God, what did he even see in her?

He grinned and crouched down to her level. “I wouldn’t say no…but I’ll leave that up to you. No, you just be your charming little self and you’ll more than earn your keep.” 

She didn’t know what to say to that. Her? Charming? Had he hit his head last night? 

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, she thought. 

“Okay.”

Rhys looked beyond thrilled by this answer, though she couldn’t imagine why. 

“Now,” he said genially, reaching forward to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. Feyre tried not to shiver. “What do you say about us getting you some new clothes?”

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

There were things she needed to take care of first. 

Like calling into work. 

“Hey Gabe…” she began, already dreading this conversation. “A family emergency came up and I’m going to need to take the rest of the week off.”

She wasn’t about to tell him the truth, that she actually needed to spend the week at a millionaire’s beck and call to make ten times her monthly income. She was sure that wouldn’t have gone over well, so family emergency it was. 

“Fey, honey, really?” She frowned. She hated that nickname. “We’re slammed over here. We need you!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s an emergency. There’s nothing I can do,” Feyre said firmly. And then, because she was a pushover, “I’ll make up the hours next week.”

“But we need you now.”

“Well,” she said, frustrated, “I have an emergency now. You’re just going to have to deal.”

“I can’t believe you would do this to us,” Gabe scoffed, laying on the guilt trip. 

“I’ve never taken time off before,” she pointed out. And it was true. She hadn’t. Not once in the three years that she had worked for him. Not even when she’s gotten the plague and had run a fever so high her sisters had nearly sent her to the hospital. “And I’m not asking.” 

Her boss grumbled some more about ‘staffing shortages’ and ‘peak hours’ but she knew she had him. He may bitch and moan about how much she was ‘letting the team down’ but he wouldn’t dare fire her over this. She was too good of a worker to risk losing. 

Once she made her excuses and disconnected the call, she wandered back out into the living area to find Rhys lounging on one of the couches (the same one he’d fingered her on), typing away on his phone. She sat down next to him. 

“So…” she said. “I…still need to go to the bank. To deposit all this.” She gestured to her purse. 

“I’ll have someone drive you,” Rhys said, still typing something on his phone. “What bank do you use?” 

“Umm…Bank of America?” Feyre said automatically, taken aback by the question. 

“And your account and routing numbers?”

She stared. 

“…Why do you need those?” She asked suspiciously. 

“So I can wire you your money.” He said simply. 

“…Oh.” 

“How does twenty grand sound?”

Feyre nearly swallowed her tongue. 

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

Later, after she got herself back under control, he gave her a card. 

A black card. 

Feyre may have been poor, but even she knew what a black AmEx card was. She held it gingerly, the way one would a live grenade. 

“Do I have a budget?” She had asked. 

Rhys had just laughed. 

So here she was an hour later, card in hand, standing outside a boutique she’d been ushered to by Rhys’s chauffeur and a personal shopper named Claire. 

“Is there any particular style we’re going for?” She had asked her in the car and Feyre had only been able to stare at her blankly. The only ‘style’ she had ever been known to exhibit was ‘cheap’ and ‘my father bought this for me in middle school and somehow I still fit into it’. Style was for people who had disposable income. And she was definitely not one of those people. 

Or, she thought dazedly, maybe she was now?

As they entered the boutique, Claire took charge like a general rallying her troops. Immediately, half a dozen impeccably dressed saleswomen appeared to do her bidding. One of them spied the black card in Feyre’s hand and the look in her eyes could only be described as predatory. 

Feyre gulped. 

The next several hours were a whirlwind of Feyre trying on a bevy of beautiful designer clothes (with price tags that gave her heart palpitations) while Claire barked orders to everyone who would listen. Occasionally Feyre found herself trying something on she thought looked perfectly fine only for the other woman to shake her head in frustration. 

“No, not that one. It’s too last season.” 

She had no idea what that even meant but at this point Feyre had grown rather scared of this woman so she had dutifully taken the outfit off in favor of the next. 

The only time she had found herself putting her foot down was when Claire had tried to veto a leather jacket she had liked. 

“No,” Feyre said quickly, clutching the jacket to her chest. “I’d like to keep this one.”

Claire just seemed confused. “It doesn’t really fit with the aesthetic we’re going for.” 

“That’s fine.”

Everything else that had been approved and then ferried off (to be packed up and sent to the hotel she later found out) had followed the pattern of being very…sophisticated. Gorgeous beaded ballgowns, crisp white blouses, cinched pencil skirts, red bottomed heels, all of it seemed tailored to an image of a woman Claire seemed to think Rhys needed at his side. And Feyre was fine with that. She certainly had no idea what kind of woman Rhys needed on his arm. 

But this jacket was also the first thing that seemed…her. The real her. And if she got anything out of this strange business arrangement she’d like it to be something that she could actually wear again after this was all over. 

Claire shrugged. 

“Alright.”

She directed someone to take the jacket so it could be added to the pile of approved clothes and then Feyre was back to being shoved into another extravagant dress. 

She sighed. 

Finally, when all was said and done, Feyre found herself to be the owner of a dozen new outfits, various accessories, far too many shoes, and all the while wondering how on earth she was expected to wear all of this in a single week. 

When the total was read out, she tried very hard not to have a heart attack then and there. Wincing, she handed over Rhys’s black card and watched the saleswoman swipe it with a bit too much relish. 

At least someone was enjoying themselves. 

• $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ • $ •

Her last errand was the most important of all. 

“Here, Miss?” The chauffeur confirmed a little skeptically as he pulled up in front of her run down apartment complex. 

“Yep. This is it. I promise I’ll only be gone for a second.” Then she was climbing out of the car and sprinting into her apartment as quickly as possible. 

Thankfully, her landlord’s door was conveniently near the front exit. She banged on it a few times and was soon rewarded with a rumpled look middle aged man poking his head out. 

“Feyre,” he said her name the way one would to a misbehaving child. “You here with my money?”

“Actually,” she smiled, pulling out a stack of bills. “I am.”

[marigoldbaker]

ok i texted people it has to be a post now everyone has to know that this happened. to me today. i am on my first day post-finals and as anyone who has been around for a minute knows i have had to literally claw at absolutely everything to get myself through the last eight months with job + classes happening at the same time as adjusting to a move AND adjusting to a really fucked up life realization that i realized only through deliberately putting myself in the torment nexus to "see what would happen" (the answer is that it's Bad). so today already has been this place of -- i am doing literally anything i want today, and what i want is to not clean the house and play video games and order in. and so i ordered from this indian place i love (wonderful) and added on a whim a slice of chocolate cake, and paid $6 for that slice of chocolate cake, which i felt was a solid price considering that this was a slice of cake i had really really enjoyed when trying it for the first time at a work event. and my "really really enjoyed" is A Lot because i get Super Emotional about dessert, just generally. closed my eyes mid work lunch and had a meditative moment with that cake.

ANYWAY. the place charged me the appropriate price of six american dollars for that slice of chocolate cake and instead of a slice of chocolate cake sent me . A Whole Fucking Cake. i got A Whole Fucking Cake. that i know i love. that i can have for an extremely late breakfast and probably also leftover dessert stretching far into the future. was literally thinking wistfully to myself that i'm a little tired of ice cream. this is the most loving kiss from the universe that i've ever received. i am losing it a little. called my father with my voice shaking like this cake , cost me , six dollars,

[star-of-the-underworld]

Camp/Underworld Quotes #6

Koiyan, making exotic wines and meads: Be the wine experimenter they said. It'll be fun they said.

Cory, helping them bottle the wines: Wtf is a star fruit?

Koiyan, done with their pale white ass not knowing 90% of the exotic fruits they know: Questions later, bottling now.

-

Dionysus, seeing Koiyan make wines with ease: ...Are you sure you're not my child?

Koiyan, making rice wine on the roof: It's just the Vietnamese in me.

-

Other kids, getting wasted easily, looking at Koiyan: How come you're not a Dionysus kid and not drunk at this point?

Koiyan, been drinking since she was 2 years old: Experience

Other kids: How?

Koiyan: Vietnam has no legal drinking age. Kids start drinking usually at 10-12 there. My mortal step-father did.

-

Cory: Why rice wine?

Koiyan, taste testing the rice wine: It's what my area of Vietnam is known for.

-

Koiyan: When I die I want Cory to lower me into my grave so they can let me down one last time.

-

Zagreus: I'm gonna get my pilot's license. I've already got a driver's license and a cosmetology license, that's two of the big five licenses.

Koiyan: The big five licenses?

Zagreus: Driver's license, cosmetology license, pilot's license, fishing license, and… license to kill! I can't wait to get that one.

-

Zagreus, helping Thanatos dispose the bodies Koiyan made: You stole my Adamant Rail for this.

Koiyan: The alters wanted violence and Ares told us to help with the war.

-

Zagreus: What state do you live in?

Thanatos: Constant anxiety.

Cory: Denial.

Koiyan: Perfection.

Cyrilla, pointing to all of the camp: NEW YORK! WE'RE ALL IN NEW YORK LONG ISLAND.

-

Koiyan: I’ve become a bread crumb dealer to four crows at the lake. They pay me with a bit of everything. Like shiny things, fabric, or pens. But recently they paid me with a 20 dollar bill they found somewhere. So I decided to buy them some more expensive bread. They loved it. So they understand what to do. Give me money. I’ve probably racked up about 200 dollars at this point. Is it morally wrong though, I mean. They’re the ones who steal the money from others. Or perhaps they just have a big pile laying somewhere. Should I keep on doing this?

Cory: You sound like the start of a Batman villain.

Koiyan, now being flocked by crows: More like the crazy bird lady from Home Alone 2

-

Koiyan: I think you're still suffering the effects of your party last night.

Nico: All I drank was Redbull!

Koiyan: How many?

Nico: Eighteen.

Koiyan: I'm getting Will-

-

Cyrilla: Whose turn is it to give the pep-talk before capture the flag?

Koiyan: *sighing* Zagreus.

Zagreus, now hanging around camp and is now a camp counselor: Fuck shit up out there, but don’t die.

Cory: *wiping away a tear* So inspirational.

-

Cyrilla: *is hugging Koiyan*

Thanatos: Hey! It's my turn to hug Koiyan!

Thanatos: *grabs Koiyan*

Zagreus: *kicking down the door* What do you mean, "yOuR tUrN"? We agreed now is my time slot!

Cyrilla: No, It's still my turn!

Koiyan: *suffocating* Guys, I love you, but just because I'm the smallest doesn't mean you can be hugging me constantly!

Thanatos: But we need the moral support!

Cyrilla: And you're small! Which is cute!

Zagreus: If I don't hug you right now I think the depression will kick in and my body will stop functioning.

Koiyan: *close to tears* Well- I, I guess.

-

Koiyan, at the slightest provocation: I came into this earth screaming and covered in someone else's blood and and I'm not afraid to leave the same way.

Zagreus, knowing its her cycle: Want chocolate?

Koiyan, about to cry: Yes please.

-

Koiyan: *Plays Slender: The Eight Pages*

*Jumpscare*

Koiyan, the only Asian in the group: *Jumps back* OH SHIT, IT'S A WHITE GUY!!!

Cyrilla: Do you mean me?

Koiyan: Not this time

-

Koiyan, to Cory: You're starting to forget your Spanish. You don't practice.

Cory: Lo siento. Estoy embarazada.

Koiyan: You just told me you're pregnant.

Thanatos: Congratulations Cory, you're glowing!

Cyrilla: Who's the unlucky guy?

Koiyan: Estoy rodeado de idiotas (I am surrounded by idiots)

-

Cory: Where's Zagreus?

Koiyan: Don't worry, I'll find them.

Koiyan, shouting: Thanatos sucks!

Zagreus, distantly: Thanatos is the best person ever! Fuck you!

Koiyan: Found them.

Thanatos, tearing up: Babe...

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Henchreader waking them up.

Ah, back again are we? Feeling an itch of Deja Vu? Last time your boss woke you up but the void ---Vannie--- reckons payback is in order. ...A bad idea you say? Tough shit. Go get that dollar dollar babe.

The Riddler: He was asleep hunched over his work desk. His face on the cold and unforgiving surface. He's a frighteningly light sleeper so you figured the usual tactic of the door opening would wake him. It did not. If that failed surely saying his name will wake him. It did not. This was unprecedented. Was he dead? You stared at his back. It moved softly up and down. Okay, so he was still breathing. You immediately wanted to cry. Working for the Riddler was brutal but waking him? That's a death wish.Yet it was also a death wish if he woke up and found out you let him sleep. He has cameras everywhere. 'Shit' You mouthed to yourself. There was no escaping this one. You scanned his surroundings for anything he might use as a weapon. You found one wrench. Okay, doable. Not the worst. You'd have to be quick. You leaned forward and quickly blew on his head. The Riddler shot up, grabbing the first thing he could see- a wrench- and you immediately covered your head and dropped to the floor."It's me!" You yelped. He looked down at the floor at the 'thud' your knees made against the wooden floor. "Oh...it's you." He grimaced. You waved frantically at him.

Scarecrow: Perhaps your boss being asleep was the most peaceful you had ever seen him. Even that didn't make sense as even asleep he lacked expression. Lips and eyes shut tightly. You had to play this carefully and furthermore right. Your hand hovered over his bare back and tapped his back. Groggily, Jonathan's eyes opened, squinting at you. "Hey boss..." You said carefully. "It's seven thirty." He groaned slightly. "I slept in.""You...slept in?" You repeated. "What time do you usually wake up-" "Five thirty. Six if I'm feeling particularly fatigued." He replied before pushing himself up. You'd never understand Jonathan Crane.

Two-Face: You drew the short straw. "Motherfucker." You grumbled. "Go ahead." One of the henchmen cackled. That led you to now. "Um...boss?" You called. You heard a groan. "What the fuck now?" He ground out. "Sorry but you said you wanted to start early? It's half eight." You explained. There was another grumble. "Who are you?" "(Y/N), sir." You replied. "Thanks kid." Harvey responded, sitting up and revealing his bare torso as he stretched. Something told you that he would have rented very different had it been someone else.

Black Mask: You swung the door open. As predicted, Roman was not alone in his bed. He rarely is. He lay in the middle of his white bed. You tried not to eye his bare chest and stomach. He's your boss! It was amusing to see how he had starfished his limbs out. On either side of him were two very naked women. The sheets covered the two, protecting their modesty and keeping them warm...or at least you hoped. You sighed. You didn't get paid enough and probably won't have a job in the next ten minutes...or a life. He could kill you for this. You cleated your throat. "Wakey wakey!" Your voice rang out. Groans rumbled in response as the three stirred. "Sorry boss, I really hate to do this but...well Cobblepot's men are crossing into our territory." You said quickly. "What the fuck did you just say?" Roman sat up and you immediately covered your eyes. "Penguin, boss. He's intruding on our territory." "That bird-brained freak!" Roman ground out, practically pushing the two women out of his way and almost out the bed all together. Both completely forgotten. If you hadn't covered your eyes, you'd have seen much more of Roman Sionis and those two women.

Penguin: Honestly? He isn't bad to wake up. You knocked on the door first and received a groan. "Oz? Boss?" You peeked your head in. Oswald had crashed on his couch, one hand behind his head, the other on his stomach, his legs crossed by the ankles. "Sorry to interrupt boss, but it's past eleven." Oswald groaned again. "Uh huh, gotta get up." He groaned to himself, sitting up. "Want some coffee?" You offered. "Yeah, that'd be great, sweetheart." Penguin muttered as he rubbed his eyes.

[desoax]

There is some idiot who took advantage of me when I was fleeing my abusive husband years ago, I barely even knew this guy I married and was taken advantage of when I was first integrating back into society after being isolated by MCAS. I was approached after giving a speech where I was stuttering immensely. The idiot who take advantage after that guy STILL hits me up. He owes me hundreds of dollars for counseling I provided to him when I was a SAHM. He is a John gentrifying MEXICO with his BULLSHIT tech job. I would get drunk and fucked up on dabs, just stare at him. His mouth was riddled with tonsil stones to a turbo degree. He makes all sorts of ignorant assumptions about me because he has been with so many prostitutes the past *nearly* EIGHT YEARS that he does not know reality. Had a trusted individual tell me he has paid MINORS for sex before. Pretty sure he has paid for sex throughout the Bay Area. Compares me to meth addicted prostitutes in Mexico, kinda like a certain braindead drug addict on Tumblr. All these people got that STENCH of EVIL.

His name is Terence Macias. Fuck this dipshit. Stop hitting me up unless you got money for me you soulless broke bitch! Your disgusting vessel haunts me to this day and I know for a fact that you are going to burn in Hell. You deserved what I did to you, it wasn't even that bad. If anything, I could have harmed the virgin person I had consensual sex with with YOUR disgusting festering body that VIOLATED ME. Admit what the fuck YOU did because I know what I did. I have paid for my sins more than I should have.

[angel--ashes]

"Jack, you can't seriously be mad here, you pay me money and I used it at my own discretion if something important like a bill comes up. That's it" A man scoffed as he sat in a broken down, peeling recliner. He was an older man, salt and pepper hair, his hands rough like sandpaper from a blue collar job.

"For rent.... for fucking rent! Not some friend who needs bail!" A much younger male yelled, Jack, as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a now empty envelope that once held more than eight hundred dollars in cash just two days prior. Jack threw down the empty envelope onto the ugly green carpet and stormed towards the recliner but stopped once the older man stood up in hast.

"Well guess what? I needed it for something else!" The older man yelled even louder as he took a step towards Jack and away from the recliner, he expected Jack to back up but instead, Jack stood there and stared him down.

Jack stood there, putting on a tough face but instead he was shaking, he could hear his heart in his ears, so loud as if it was now beating inside of his head. Jack swallowed heard and straighted up his shoulders, foot pushed down more firm into the ground showing the older man, he wasn't backing away, not this time.

The older man glared, a stone, cold stare, he wasn't scared and definitely wasn't gonna be the one to back down. So instead he laughed, he laughed right in Jack's face and shook his head slightly, as if Jack standing his ground was a joke because to him? It was, Jack was being funny. "Whew Jack, you creak your old man up" he gave out one more chuckled before he pushed past Jack, making sure to make contact with his shoulder and gave a light push to make Jack lose his footing slightly, only slightly but it was enough.

Jack took a deep breath and unclenched his fists, not even realizing he was clenching them until he relaxed his stance once his dad was moved past, or well his dad pushed past.

Jack's father had moved into the kitchen, sat at the table and had lighten up a cigarette by the time Jack had gathered himself to come face him again. "Look" Jack's dad said as he took a long drag off his cigarette and then blew out smoke. "Just pick up an extra shift or two down at that sleazy little bar and pay me again" his father said matter of fact like, as if he had given Jack a solution to his problem. "Look I'll even do you a favor" Jack's dad said as he then grunts, holding the cigarette in his mouth, between his teeth as he reached into the pocket of his worn out work jeans and pulls out his wallet. "I still have oh uh-" he stopped talking as he looks at the cash he had, "oh! Around thirty six dollars after the bail and then dinner. So you only owe me eight hundred and fourteen" he then put his wallet on the table, then looks up at Jack. "I do need it in about a week" he said and puts his cigarette in the ash-tray before blowing out smoke.

Staring at his father in not awe because he knew how his father is, but anger, anger rushed through Jack as his father spoke to him like this, but what could he say? He lived with him after all.

Jack looked down at the floor and kept repeating to himself, "we have no where else to go" and "don't be a dick, hold your tongue". Jack took a deep breath and finally looked up from the floor then walked over to the kitchen table his father was sitting at. "One I've said not to smoke in the house-" he then stopped talking and grabbed his dad's cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray. "Two, I just got paid, paid you and my own bills, now I am broke and couldn't pay you if I wanted" he told his dad then backs up and looked down at his dad, "I'll have to pay you next week" he told his dad.

Jack's dad looked at Jack almost confused than laughed, he laughed a genuine laugh as if Jack made another joke. "Oh jeez Jack you kill me" he spoke as he wipped a fake tear from his eye. "As much as I'd love to indulge in this ridiculous idea that if you don't have the money, you don't have to pay, I-I can't Jack" his father spoke and simply shrugged looking up at Jack, "you don't have it, than get out" he said in a sudden cold and serious tone to where Jack knew he wasn't joking, "get the fuck out my house" his father said as he lit another cigarette and this time blew the smoke toward Jack's face.

Jack's face changed from one of angry and stone to one of panic pretty much and just complete shock, he knew his dad was a dick but this? This of all things. "Dad I-what? I don't have anywhe-" he was cut off

"Oh no, please don't give me some pity speech okay? You know it's time I stop holding your hand Jack okay? I tried, I did for your mom okay? You know when she died" Jack's dad sighed, pitching the bridge of his nose, "I promised not to kick you two out butJack that was 2 years ago and you still can't support you or yo-" His dad was cut off this time

"Because I can't afford it? Like wh- I'm broke dad, I've got fifty dollars to last me till next week!" Jack for the first time yelled at his dad, "what the fuck do you want me to do?! Sleep on a bench!" He yelled as he breathing picked up and his thoughts started to race, he couldn't breath, what was he gonna do now? He couldn't even afford a motel room for a night. Clearly his dad was joking. Jack cleared his throat as tried to keep his voice straight, not wanting it to creak and show any emotion. "Please dad you have to be joking, I-I mean come on, I have no where...." he ran a hand through his hair, "Just give me till next week I'll have to" he started to plead with his dad, showing how desperate he was.

His dad sighed, putting out his mostly gone cigarette, "Jack I love you, I do but I think you need a push" he said standing up, walking over to Jack and patting him on the shoulder, "you and Elijah will be fine, you're smart, stay with a friend" he said as he just continues to walk into the living room that was straight outside the kitchen and sits back down, in the old broken down, peeling recliner.

Jack stood there in shock blinking away tears as he looked down at the kitchen floor slightly, his heart pounding in his ears again and his breathing picking up. What was he even gonna do? For himself, let alone-

"Daddy?" A little boy wondered out, rubbing his eye with one hand and the other holding his stuffed racon. "Grandpa said you were brining home dinner" he mumbled as he looks up at his dad.

Jack's heart sank as he looked out at the clock, it was 10:46 pm and his dad never feed his kid dinner.

"Oh yeah" Jack's dad chimed in as he turns on the TV, not even looking towards the kitchen, "I was tried after work and everything we had, I had to cook so I just gave him a glass of water till you got home" he explains as he stared at the TV

To make it all worse, Jack wasn't even supposed to be home till 1 a.m but he was cut early. So his son wasn't gonna eat till after 1 in the morning.

Jack breaths and shakes his hands a little, trying to relax himself before he speaks. "Yeah buddy but I decided to take you to uh, get a burger when I got home" he spoke, his voice breaking in the middle but he manged to straighten it back up.

Elijah gasped and smiled, waking up quickly and runs over, hugging his dad's leg, "I knew being hungry for a little bit was gonna be worth it!" He exclaims excitedly as he hugs his dad's pant leg.

Jsck took a deep breath as a few tears escaped his eyes, flowing down his cheeks. "Yeah buddy go get dressed, we're also gonna go have a sleep over" he sniffs and pets Elijah's hair. Wipping away the tears with his other hand.

"Where?!" Elijah asked looking up at his dad, he was only about 5 so he was still quite short next to Jack.

"It's a surprise" and by that, Jack ment he had no idea where they would sleep, but it wasn't gonna be here. "Go change into your day time clothes and I'm gonna go pack a bag for the sleep over"

Elijah happily runs away because in his head, this was gonna be the best night ever.

Jack slumps down, shoulders dropping and body just almost folding into itself as much as he could in an up right position, almost as if to sink into the floor as he slowly makes his way to the stairs Elijah had just run up.

"This will be good Jack" Jack's dad said as he just watched the TV in front of him, not even making an effort to look over at his son.

Jack stood there stiff at the bottom of the stairs, clenching his fists again as he saw red. He was so mad he could almost hear ringing in his ears, how could his dad do this?! This wasn't fair and Jsck shouldn't have to leave! He should teach his dad a lesson and that's what he was gonna do.

Jack turned around to walk past the kitchen and straight into the living room but he stopped once he heard Elijah. "Hey dad! Can I bring Robby?!" He yelled down the Stairs towards Jack.

Jack looked back towards the stairs and his fists unclenched and he nods as if Elijah could see him. "Y-Yeah of course" he calls back up the stairs towards his son.

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair, gripping his hair at the back and took a few deep breaths. If he went in there with his dad, he might either scar his son or get aressted and neither were an option. His son needed him now more then ever so instead, Jack did the harder thing and didn't say anything to his dad. Instead Jack pressed on upstairs and packed a bag for himself and his son. Then started to look through his phone for anyone who might let them stay for a night or two.

-------------

So this is just a short story I've had in my head lately. I might do a part two or maybe not. Anyways if you like stuff like this drop a like or a follow!

[tiktaalic]

I bought a $5 latte and left a $3 tip and she said 8 ounces right? And I said yeah 8 ounces then got my cup and it was the smallest cup in the entire world and I went I can’t believe I paid eight dollars for this. But I am polite so i did not say this I smiled and drove away. And then it was the worst drivnk I’ve ever had and I had to abandon it after like 5 sips. The point is when I’m in my ice soup week next month I’ll be going FUCK why did I pay 8 dollars for the w worst smallest drink in the world two weeks ago. Purchase with immediate regret. Purchase I will regret in the future. I spent large chunks of money this month that I am able to justify by I Need My Car To Live and Piercings Arw Forever but this EIGHT. dollars for a thimble sized drink I hated. Will haunt me